Bad Faith
by Cor Serpentis
Summary: Harry and Draco, have been married for eleven years, only to be torn apart by an affair. Harry asks for a divorce, and gets one. After betraying his husband, Harry realizes he still loves Draco. Can he win him back before the divorce is final? HarryxDraco
1. Chapter 1

Unfortunately, or fortunately, I find myself bound to the drarry fandom for a time. Forgive me.

* * *

Draco sat smoothly, gesturing for Granger to do the same. They had struck up an odd sort of attachment after Harry and he had gotten together. It was over a decade past, when he had first felt his heart melt, since his magic and soul had fused with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. At thirty-two, Draco still felt that he was in his prime. He was at a loss though, seeing, as he had accomplished nothing of what he had once dreamed. Maybe now, sometime soon. Sometime in the future. One could always hope for that vaunted silver lining.

"Draco, how are you and Harry? I hardly see you two together, with Harry gone training his Junior Auror and all. Tonic Anderson, I think that's her name. Odd name…" Pointedly ignoring the mention of _her, _Draco pondered on his friend. Hermione was all intelligence and wit, everything that Draco could hope for in a friend. Her Gryffindor chivalry, however, was an irritating blight.

"I've been fine, Granger," drawing out the old taunt, without a drop of its former sting. "Potter, however, I cannot say. I have yet to see him this month." Draco spoke with a marked bitterness, barely attempting to reign in his venom.

"Really, Draco. You should at least call Harry, Harry. Your last name is Potter too, for heaven's sake! Enough of that though, Harry hasn't been home _all _month?"

All concern, without any designs that Draco could see; even if there were, though, they would be for his and Harry's benefit. At least that Gryffindor quality was somewhat endearing. Somewhat…if its memory had left a less bitter taste in his mouth.

"Harry has been home, if only in body. He doesn't speak to me. Doesn't touch me. If it wasn't a completely daft concept, I'd even contend he didn't _see_ me. It's gone on this way for years! And my name may be Potter now, but with all the camouflage Harry insisted we throw at the press, my return to the Malfoy name should be remarkably simplistic."

Hermione choked on her perfectly spiced and honeyed tea. Madagascar Red, one of his favorite blends. She saw deeper than most, and knew what he had indicated. "W-what?" she muttered somewhat unintelligently.

"Potter and I will be getting a divorce. I expect to return to my family name by the end of this school year. After Christmas and the children are back at Hogwarts. Granger, you spilled on your dress. Try to maintain some decorum. I did say you would have a hard time living up to your own standards after marrying so far beneath you."

Hermione flashed a grim smile, despite the light anger dancing across her cheeks. She had more pressing matters to attend to; such as Draco had set for her. Otherwise, he would never have made the joke. "You leave my husband out of this, Draco. Now what is this about a divorce? Merlin! You two were so much in love! I won't even touch the fact that I lectured you _both_ on marrying so soon! That would be all too much like an 'I told you so', and you know how much I despise that kind of satisfaction."

Draco smiled brightly. Granger had been his only source of happiness in no less than three years. Thirteen years ago he would have hexed himself to be in such a position. "That's the Muggle-born I fell in love with. You redeem yourself. Still, you were right. I agree with you, _should've_ agreed with you years ago. That doesn't excuse the fact that Harry has broken faith."

Granger sat still, more still than Draco had ever seen her. She was smart, to be sure. Witty? Of course. Clever? To a fault. However, the Slytherin brand of clever? No. She was clever, thorough, and cautious in her thoughts. Lightning quick, ambitious, and calculating--she was not. As a Slytherin would be. Draco enjoyed watching her think. "Harry…is having an affair?"

Draco smile, slightly this time. A smile to hide things. "Yes. He is. For three years, now. Near enough. With his Junior Auror, from what I've managed to uncover."

Hermione's shock was palpable. "Y-you've known for this long? And you've done nothing?"

Draco let his anger fill him. He felt his cheeks color, felt his eyes flash. "Potter takes me for a fool. He came to me, the first night he betrayed me. Smelling of her. Of her! All over his neck and chest. He came to me, seeking comfort and forgiveness without even realizing it himself. I denied him, of course. I am _no_ man's second choice. _No _man, or woman. We haven't so much as embraced since then. In the beginning, I expected him to confess. In the end, I expect nothing less than a disillusion."

There were tears in Granger's eyes. Rightly so, Draco himself felt nearly given to grief. "I have come to terms with it, though. I've had enough time. I made a covenant, and I will keep it until it no longer applies. When that happens, though, I will soar and I will fly and I will be free. I will dance with the lightning as my namesake suggests." He firmed his voice, "I will have happiness. I am certain of it now, it is my right."

Quieter, he whispered to himself, face hidden in his cup, thinking Hermione could not hear. _"It is my right. I deserve as much. I should never have forgot. Not for him, not if it was destined to break."_

Collecting himself, he spoke again. "I am quite looking forward to it, though. I have everything prepared. Lily has been my named daughter, legally, practically since her birth. I adopted James and Albus soon after I married Potter. Potter never adopted Scorpius, so there is no quarrel there. I will not relinquish visitation rights for the other three. After eleven years, I have as much a claim as Potter. If not more."

Granger seemed still in shock, and rightly so. She jumped at the sudden crack, a house-elf appearing at the foot of Draco's chair. Even in a crisis she found time to frown at the elf's attire, the mark of their service. "Master Malfoy, Nelly do have a message from Chateau du Malfoy she do. It do be very urgent, very!"

The house-elf beckoned him closer, with worried glances toward Granger, and he complied. Leaning in, his face grew pale, very pale. "Thank you, Nelly. Please, gather the rest of the house-elves. We must prepare." Before disappearing, she handed Draco a small, black silk bag. Draco dipped his fingers in numbly.

Smearing black soot on his forehead, three fingers thick, Hermione's face grew puzzled. "Draco…what is it? I don't think I've seen dirt on you for any reason at all. You even manage to be clean while playing with Hugo, and that is a feat even I thought impossible."

Draco swallowed, despite an unsurprisingly dry mouth. Tears stung his eyes. "It is my mother," he croaked, "She has…passed away. The soot…is a mark of mourning."

"Draco…"

He raised a hand to halt her. He could not handle much of anything at the moment. "I know Granger. I know…but please. I must prepare."

* * *

Harry paced up and down the hallway. He did not want to enter his room. Their room. His and Draco's. Yet…he needed to. It was time to divorce him. After three years of sneaking around, and hiding his affair, he wanted to stop all the lies. Did he love her? No, not really. Truth, he didn't even like her that much. It was an escape though, and Draco…well. Draco was Draco, and that was all that needed to be said.

Draco and he had been a long shot before they had even started. It was only natural. It was how it had to progress. Tentatively, he reached out, trying to feel out his husband's magical aura. If the blond were asleep, there would be no need to worry. He would tell him in the morning. It was just past three a.m. He doubted that Draco would wait up that late. Frowning, he felt nothing. Draco wasn't home. He should be.

Puzzlement quickly turned to anger. Of all the times for his so-called spouse to go missing. He fumed for a good ten minutes before he felt a flux of energy in the library. Whirling around, he turned to give his husband a sharp piece of his mind. He ignored the sharp, stabbing pain that blossomed in his chest at the thought of Draco with anyone else.

Throwing the door open, he paused after two steps, his arguments dying on his tongue. Draco sat quite still, staring out at him from a deep, black leather chair. His arian eyes glinting like lights in the eventide darkness, his blond hair almost ghostly in the night. Taking another step, he watched his husband watch him, noticing the thick black mark marring his husband's forehead. Draco must be getting sloppy. He looked…raw somehow. Rubbed raw. Draco opened his mouth slightly…

"I want a divorce." Harry's eyes popped opened as he heard what came out of his own mouth. His hand twitched reflexively, wishing he had brought his wand.

Draco's mouth snapped shut, an audible clicking sound filling the room. They stood there, staring at each other for a long moment. After several awkward minutes passed, Draco's eyes were suddenly much more guarded.

"To be expected. I am pained, though, that you beat me to it. If only by mere seconds. You usually do have such luck," He spat, justified heat in his words.

Harry…blinked. That was it? No spells? No Dark Magic? No anger, no _fight_? He spent weeks working up courage to divorce his husband, only to have his own sentiments thrown back at him. He frowned, watching the blond suspiciously. Did he believe that his husband really wanted a divorce?

Draco stood, rather quickly, though Harry detected no wobbling. His elegant hands reached into a book--or what looked like a book--and pulled out a small sheaf of papers. The illusion disappeared, and Harry stared at the stack as if a viper. Draco had been serious. He started as Draco began to speak in his deep, mellifluous voice.

"I will not even begin to pretend that we have a happy marriage, and if it weren't for pride I would not have believed we would make it as long as we have. However, we have reached a point where we cannot continue. In such light, I have detailed an arrangement that is to the benefit of us both. Myself, specifically. You, obviously, have no claim to any of the Malfoy estates, properties, vaults, heirlooms, or titles. I, have no designs on the Potter, or the Perevel, fortunes and the like. I will keep James, Albus, and Lily as part of my family. You may have primary custody, but they are free to visit as they like, and the same is to be said of me. As the named heir of the late Lady Black, I claim my fair portion of the Black estates. Be it monetary compensation, or the actual properties, I don't care. You may have sole ownership of Grimmauld Place, and all it contains. Since you never adopted Scorpius, you retain no custody and no visitation rights. Is there anything you disagree with so far?"

Draco began setting up a small writing desk, and melted a ball of deep green seal wax. He cut a glance at Harry, obviously annoyed at the silence.

"N-no. Everything seems good so far." He would miss Scorpius, but, he had never really felt like a father to him. He always meant to adopt him, he really did…

He received a curt nod in response.

"Seeing as we are both fairly high profile personalities, especially where the media is concerned, I fear we will have to address that very staunchly. As per your request, the rumors of our marriage are only that; rumors. I have decided that we will enter a blood oath to ensure our privacy. It will include a restriction on acknowledging our failed relationship; require us to deny any personal knowledge of the other, private or otherwise. We will not tell anyone anything that they do not already know. We will not discuss the terms of our divorce to our children, our family, or our friends. Do you have any disagreements?"

He glared briefly. Harry could not help feeling betrayed…and lost. "No. I do have a question though. Why not an Unbreakable Vow? Why a blood oath? That seems a little shoddy."

Draco shot him an exasperated glare. "Wizard oaths and Unbreakable Vows are much too limited for what I feel we need. They are easy to get around, and are revealed under the effects of Veritaserum. Blood oaths are a bond acknowledged by our very hearts, and the spirit as well as the oath itself is respected. They can only be rescinded by reuniting the blood involved in the oath."

Harry stared, and nodded his head in quiet agreement.

"Good. Now, as to the timing, I cannot finalize this right now. Lily is in her first year at Hogwarts, and I could not bear to put any more pressure on Scorpius and the rest. We will separate, after signing the blood oaths, until the winter holidays. At such time, we will spend the holidays as one family. Depending on whether we still want to annul the magic bond--which I cannot see a reason not to--we will complete the divorce. And go our separate ways."

Harry could not help but feel sad, if not broken-hearted. It was just a small ache, he was sure it would pass. This was his first _great_ love that he was letting go. Watching Draco pour the wax into the empty well, and seeing him dip a quill in ink…he could not help but remember that they had once been deeply in love. He had a new…love. Or would have. He could very well come to love.

Draco had already cut his finger, mingling his blood in the ink and wax. Harry did the same. Wordlessly, he signed his name, flushing slightly at his rough scrawl next to Draco's practiced flourish.

"There. It's finished."

Draco gave him a small smile, a very small one. "Not quite Potter…not quite."

Suddenly, his estranged husband spun, cloak billowing proudly. Draco's wand, made of broadleaf holly and dragon's fang, was out in moments and he was spelling all of his belongings into a pair of stylish suitcases.

"You don't have to leave now, you prat. I'm not so bad as to kick you out." Harry said angrily.

"Prat, am I? Is that what you fall back on? Childish challenges? I should have listened to my instincts that I deserved better. We were ill-matched."

Harry was furious. Ill-matched!? "Well, forgive me, for thinking there was anything beneath that shallow face of yours that held any decency!"

Draco snorted contemptuously. "Decency!? As if anyone has ever taught you the concept! I doubt you had proper _instruction_."

Their strained civility long forgotten, Harry saw nothing but red. He had lived with Draco long enough to know an insult. "You don't want to bring parents into this! Do you?! As I recall, my parents were much better at raising me than yours were! And mine died before I was even ready for primary school!"

Silver eyes flashed dangerously. "My father, I have discounted from the beginning. My mother, has done better than anyone I know, even that Weasley-Mum of yours! She treated me right, like any parent of _decency_ would!"

"Just because I don't spoil you like your mother did, doesn't mean you can act the child now!" Harry knew he crossed the line the moment the words left his mouth. Draco loved his mother, and would not allow anyone to speak badly of her. He had wanted to, wanted to get rid of this hurt and anger he _should not_ be feeling when he got exactly as he wanted!!

Draco quivered as if struck, his hand touching his forehead. Without warning, without turning around, he struck back. Harry bellowed as a cord of magic broke across his shoulders, the weight sending him to his knees. He hadn't known that Draco could use wandless magic so well!

He turned slowly, watching Harry with a face of cold fury. "In eleven years, you never cared to understand my childhood! Now, you have no right to speak of it! You have no right to _think_ anything of it! Of me or my mother! None! You spurned that right when you signed that oath! I am glad to relieve that right from your care!"

Harry felt himself thrown against the wall by a surge of magic, and he absently heard the crack of Apparition.

Draco had left.

Eyes wide, he took a few breaths, and steadied himself. He certainly had expected a fight. Harry hadn't expected to start it, though. Rather numbly, he gathered his pajamas and changed, ignoring the few things that Draco had left behind. Draco never changed like he did, Harry liked to change without magic. Draco spelled almost everything.

That wasn't his concern, though. Draco was right; he didn't need to think about the man anymore. Not that Draco had been forefront in his thoughts, though. At least, not for some time. It was odd, knowing something was over, instead of expecting it to end.

He had officially separated from his husband of eleven years.

Toni hadn't crossed his mind at all.

* * *

Draco stumbled into his rooms at Malfoy Manor. Collapsing on the rich carpeting, without a care to the humiliation of it, angry tears burned at the corner of his eyes and his throat seemed all too raw. Fisting his hands in the fibrous rug, he dragged himself off the floor.

He had things to do. His mother was dead, and he had long since held the title of Lord of the Manor. There were properties that he had to inspect. Assets he had to take care of. Elves he needed to reassure. A son he had to inform. Stepchildren that deserved to know, too.

Friends that he needed to Floo.

With that in mind, he turned to his fireplace, catching a glimpse of red eyes and mussed hair in his vanity mirror. Frowning, he cast a perfect Glamour. He had no need of pity, and his appearance would garner more than he could bear.

Hermione's face appeared, looking tired and annoyed. Seeing Draco, she smoothed her face anyway. "Draco? Are you all right? How are you doing?"

"Bloody fantastic! Seconds, just seconds from telling Harry my mother died, he divorces me. Just as quick as you bloody will. Then, and then, he goes and insults my family! Insulted my mother's parenting!"

Hermione gasped. "He didn't! Oh, Draco, I'm sure if he knew-"

"He did not care to know, Hermione! He did not deserve to know!" He laughed coldly. "Here I was, thinking, that he might comfort me. That we might save this marriage after all."

There was a moment of silence.

"…So…It is finished then?"

Snorting, Draco spat out, "No. Foolishly, I bought myself more time. Until after New Year's." He sounded on the verge of tears. "I cannot tell you anymore. We signed a blood oath! Oh, Hades, I still want him!"

"Draco, if you-"

He stood quickly, knowing that the Floo call would be garbled by the distance from the fire. "No. I have sacrificed myself for nothing, Granger! I will not do it again. Not without hope. I have no hope, but I_ will _live. I will move on. Sorry to call so late. Have a good night."

He closed the connection, climbing into bed wearily. Laughing bitterly to himself, "A good night? It is nearly dawn."

Ignoring his clothes, he bedded down. He went to sleep, and to weep. He wept every tear he had denied himself since Sixth Year.

* * *

Harry woke, to the insistent tapping of a belligerent owl. It was an elegant creature, a strange golden color and a breed he had never bothered to discover. Draco had given it to Hermione for Ron and Hermione's fifth anniversary. Harry had forgotten to get them anything, yet the card was signed 'From Harry. Draco gives his best. He really does.'

Feeling rather hung over, he sluggishly moved to the window to let the owl in. It landed gracefully on a rounded bedpost, looking indignant at having to deliver such a parcel. Releasing a newspaper with a shrill hoot, it flapped its wings in annoyance, clearly wanting some sort of compensation. Harry handed it a piece of dried meat he had left on his dresser. It eyed the morsel disdainfully, before nipping his fingers and grasping a first edition book, Metaphysical Transfiguration, by Minerva McGonagall. It was a gift to Draco, the only one in print…and he had never let 'Mione read it. Goaded her constantly with it though. Perfect bloody owl for 'Mione, stealing books as easy as you please.

Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, he fought to stop thinking about Draco. About their argument. Harry had thought about nothing but Draco, had even gone so far as to plan out how to win him back. He had taken his vacation, and locked himself in with his loneliness. He had to stop thinking about Draco! They had had their words. They had had their fight. It was at least a week since he had seen the man. He could not place the time for sure.

He looked at the parcel left on his floor, picking up the news gingerly. It was that morning's edition of The Daily Prophet, a small note tucked into the twine bindings.

_Harry, what is all this about?_

_~Hermione Weasley_

_PS: Pg 12_

_PPS: Tell Toni congratulations for me. I saw her nuptials in the paper._

Toni was married? That was…quick. He hadn't known she was seeing anyone. Well, other than…Huh. Harry felt…nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe…maybe he could move on. Maybe he could smooth things over with Draco? He didn't know. He sucked at relationships. Deciding to ponder later, he thumbed to page twelve.

_Draco Malfoy: Behind the Mark_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Draco Malfoy, age thirty, vanished from celebrity life almost entirely eleven years ago. Rumors sprung to life, each more extravagant than the last. One of the few women he confided in, I received a Floo the other day offering an interview. Of course, I accepted._

_Before he left the public eye, Mr. Malfoy was very much considered a rising star and natural talent. His refined grace and charm landed him Witch Weekly's coveted Most Charming Smile, Most Enchanting Eyes, Most Haunting Voice, and Most Eligible Wizard Awards in a streak that shattered the prior record held by Gilderoy Lockhart. _

_Especially renowned for his potions skills, Draco Malfoy was considered unrivaled as a jack-of-all-trades, affluent in anything from Dragon Breeding to Curse Breaking. After eleven years out of practice, is the Wizarding World's Shooting Star still up to the task? I set out to find answers to that very question._

_Rita: So, Draco, what have you been doing this past decade?_

_Draco: Not much, to be honest. I felt a need to get out of the limelight. In truth, I don't believe that is something I would want. Perhaps I was possessed!"_

_Rita: Was there a love interest that kept you away?_

_Draco: Haha! I can tell you with certainly, if love kept me away, I would never have come back. Love is forever, Rita, and I almost despair at finding it._

_Rita: Is that so? Several witches, and wizards for that matter, were sending you love letters before you vanished. Do you believe none of them are for you?_

_Draco: To be honest, I think I missed my chance at love._

_Rita: What of the rumor that your legal name is Draco Potter? I received a tip just before your disappearance that there was a marriage between you and Harry Potter, only to find that the records were sealed._

_Draco: Dear Rita, I believe your want for a little wizard-on-wizard scandal is perhaps too sharp. I assure you, my name is Malfoy. As it will remain. The records were only sealed for a time, as they contained my address in town. Surely you know the cost of letting your fans know where you live, your fame nearly rivals mine!_

_Rita: Too true. What now? What do you have planned?_

_Draco: Haha! Everything, my dear Rita. Of that, there is no doubt._

_If the past is any indication, this star on the rise will be one to watch. Having connections and fame himself, Draco Malfoy has leapt back into a glossy social circle. Leaving the interview in the company of notorious playboy, Blaise Zabini, who knows what this bachelor will do next? Everything is on the table._

Glaring at the picture of Draco's arms secured around Zabini's scrawny shoulders sent Harry into a rage as fierce as he had ever had. Wordlessly incinerating the paper, he snarled at his empty home. He would win Draco back! He would! If Draco would take him back…

Sobering at the thought, he reread the title. His head jerked back in shock. The interview brought something to light that he had been able to forget. Draco was amazing…and Harry was hit with one thought that would not leave him alone.

…_My husband is out of my league…_

* * *

_Thankfully, I've found a beta, and I want to commit my undying loyalty and adoration to Digitallace!_

_Thanks so much!_

_Drarry cookies for any reviewer that gets my little joke about Tonic Anderson!! (PS-Drarry cookies are very awkward to eat)_

_~Apythii~_


	2. Chapter 2

Here it is! The second chapter! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you have a lot of fun reading it!

* * *

Harry sat in the stadium stands with Ron, trying to find some joy in the relatively good seats his friend had gotten his hands on. Ron was almost beside himself with joy, knowing he had gotten these tickets with his own money and reputation. He worked as a color commenter for most of the Quidditch games, and gained a fan base of his own. Despite his friend's obvious happiness, Harry couldn't find it in himself to join him. Something was always tugging at him, nagging at him. He knew that that something was Draco. The memory of Draco was everywhere. After Draco left, the smallest echoes of their life together haunted Harry, hounding him with his ever-growing list of mistakes.

It had gotten to the point where Harry was taken off Auror duty. The Minister had put Harry on a sabbatical until his head cleared, after his distracted demeanor almost killed Toni. A stray curse slipped by Harry that he normally could have blocked. If he hadn't been so out of sorts lately, he would have.

Toni had accused him of trying to kill her, because she'd left him. Harry had snorted in disbelief, saying that she was delusional. She had just been there, and Harry couldn't remember why he chose her. Still, he hadn't deliberately let the curse through. It wasn't his fault if Dark Wizards reminded him of his and Draco's past. It wasn't his fault that those memories reminded him of how much he had lost, for a _fling_.

He shook the fog out of his head, turning a plastic smile to his best mate. "Hey Ron," he teased, "the Cannons playing today, right?"

Ron flushed a shade of red, in joy if Harry didn't mistake the shade, "Bloody hell, Harry! You know they are! I hear they signed a ringer for this one game! This Seeker is supposed to be a rookie superstar! No one knows the guy's name! It's got the whole media buzzing! Cali Svetlana took a bludger to the neck in the last game, and everyone thought the Cannons were out of the running, but the owner, that slimy Pansy Parkinson, brought in a last minute replacement! I know that Slytherin hag's evil and all, but she saved the Cannons! I can't fault her for that!"

Harry smiled; the deluge of information and sport statistics were just what he needed to break the tedium of his own depression. He hadn't known, though, that Parkinson had taken over management of the Cannons. Ron would've had a spectacular fit if the Cannons hadn't been so close to dropping out of the running. He still probably did anyway.

Shying away from thoughts of Parkinson and Slytherins, he tried to focus on the Quidditch pitch. Those kinds of thoughts hurt more often than not. It had been nearly a full month since he had last seen Draco, if not for lack of trying. Harry had sent owl after owl to the manor, only to find each and every time that his letters were returned unopened. He had sealed each one with wax, checking the seals to see if Draco was at least reading them…but every time he had been firmly disillusioned. Not a single seal was broken. The one time Draco had owled him, was to tell him the next owl bearing anything to Malfoy Manor would be dealt with according to the Malfoy Legal Statutes put forth in 1648. Something about the right to 'firmly disabuse agitators without legal restraint or quarter'.

Harry had ignored the letter, and sent an owl anyway.

Draco's regal white-faced owl had come bearing a charred corpse and a copy of the Statues. Harry hadn't sent another owl. He hadn't gotten any either.

Vaguely, Harry wondered if Pansy and Draco were still good friends. He winced. It was thoughts like these that made him wonder how much of himself he had lost over the years. In Hogwarts, he would never have considered the option of not being involved in his husband's life, and almost every day, Harry was reminded that he knew next to nothing about Draco anymore. Some, tenacious, stubborn part of him was determined to win him back. Some, sad, pathetic part of him felt so much less than whole.

Ron whooped loudly, as the teams began leaving the lockers to circle the field, leaning forward anxiously to glimpse the mystery Seeker. A lithe figure flew out on a rather outdated, if well kept, Nimbus 2001. He flew at an incredible speed for the old broom; easily catching the Forked Lightnings the other players flew. His speed blurred his features for a long moment, but somehow, Harry felt as though he knew the man.

As the player slowed, everything seemed to stop, and Harry was staring at the face of a sculpted pale-blond man with silver eyes. Thick goggles and Quidditch gear almost obscured the man entirely, but he knew who it was. Harry was staring at Draco Malfoy. Harry was staring at his frustratingly elusive and beautiful soon-to-be ex-husband.

"Ron! Ron! That's Malfoy! The Seeker is Malfoy!" he shouted, not taking his eyes off his husband.

"Malfoy?" Ron stuttered. "Are you sure, mate? I mean, Malfoy was only decent at Hogwarts. Bloody hell, he never beat you, not even once. I mean, the guy has blond hair and all, but I don't think it's really him. He's even wearing his headgear; I can't even see his face. You just have Malfoy on the mind, mate, what with all the…drama and all."

Harry ignored the redhead's protests, keeping his eyes trained on Draco as the Quidditch players practiced acrobatic moves. What was Draco doing? He was gifted, to be sure, Harry had never lost to him, but then, Harry had never lost to anyone. At school, Draco had only lost to Harry. What was he thinking? Draco had to be almost a full decade older than any other player…he wasn't as young as he used to be!

Lost in his worried thoughts, Harry almost missed the players finishing their warm ups, each team forming a semi-circle as a referee walked onto the pitch. Draco and the Puddlemere United Seeker took their position above the other players. A shrill whistle sounded, and Harry gripped the edge of his seat, shouts of encouragement and cheers falling on deaf ears.

His eyes all for Draco.

The game was intense, the Quaffle changing hands more often than points were tallied. Keepers kept the goals defended, Chasers chased, and Beaters beat Bludgers at a frightening pace. Harry had never felt anything but joy and awe for Quidditch, but at that moment, every fiber of his being cursed the game for being so violent.

Draco had improved through the years though. Harry absently wondered when he had had time to practice. His logic told him not to delve the problem any deeper, and his heart was strangely silent. Riding that old Nimbus, Draco seemed like a barracuda hiding amongst placid fish. There was a smooth, predatory aggression to his flight, and Harry felt his mouth water at the sight of his husband in such an element.

Wind tore roughly at his cloak and gear, sending shoulder-length blond hair flying in elegant ribbons. Harry had no idea how the blond managed that, though he suspected that Draco had inherited some trait like Teddy's. Andromeda had to have passed it on to Tonks…so; it only made sense that Draco could be so perfect. He was half Black, after all. If it were Harry flying, his hair would have been rough and tangled for days.

Draco ran an impressive series of Seeker's routes, paths that crisscrossed the stadium, designed to scout for the Snitch or simply confuse the opposing Seeker. Harry had never seen the routes Draco was running. He suspected though, observing the angles and lengths, that Draco had applied some sort of constellation map to the logic. It seemed something he would do, some private joke he would have.

Draco was using these routes to great effect, his opponents chasing him or scattering, unable to match the finesse and skill with which he operated his broom. A Beater and a Chaser had already crashed for trying to keep ahead of the blond devil, and the Seeker just barely missed flying straight into the stands.

A blur hurtled across the field, a Bludger hit with a wicked arm, darting straight at Draco. He watched, in horror, as he was sure his husband would get hit. Draco was so fragile and delicate; he wouldn't survive a hit like that! Not in one piece! Harry felt his tongue swell, felt his heart lodge in his throat, trying to will the situation away.

Then, at the last second, Draco launched himself off his broom, falling at an alarming speed. He seemed to maintain some control of his body, twisting in an awkward somersault; Harry absently noted that he looked graceful even plummeting to his doom. The referee whistled a stop to the game, hurtling toward the falling Seeker. Harry was no expert at distance and estimates, but he could tell that Draco wouldn't be caught. He was falling too fast. Tears burned their way to his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, trying to force them away. Trying to clear his eyes. Watching his husband. Helpless.

A great crack resounded through the dead silent pitch, and Harry watched in relief and disbelief. Draco disappeared, only to reappear already grappling with his falling broom. The danger had passed, and Harry felt as though time sped back to normal speed. Great cheers rushed from the crowd, Puddlemere fans and Cannons fans hollering one as loud as the other.

"_The Cannons' Seeker has caught the Snitch! Match goes to the Cannons!_"

Harry blinked. He was frozen, staring at where Draco should've hit the ground.

"Oh Merlin, Harry! Did you see that! Did you bloody _see_ that! That was brilliant! The Seeker Apparated in midair, onto his _falling_ broom! Catching the Snitch practically at the same time! It's brilliant!"

A breath escaped his lips. Harry sat back with Ron, ignoring the excited whoops and hollers around him. Cataloguing his feelings carefully, Harry came to a conclusion, the same conclusion that had plagued him ever since Draco left. He loved Draco. And he had royally fucked up.

Ignoring the clusters of cheering fans, the roar of the growing crowd, Harry desperately fought his way down the steps, toward the Quidditch lockers. He had to talk to Draco.

* * *

Draco flicked his still-wet hair away from his neck, ignoring the undignified way that Pansy scowled at him. She had no right to lecture him about appearances, or his brush with death. Her outfit was hideous, toadstool green robes with a nauseating splash of fungus yellow, and Draco was alive. He was alive--he was _living_! Almost laughing, he touched his cheeks, delighted in the healthy flush he felt. Meeting Pansy's eyes, he decided to end her ploy of 'disapproving silence'.

"Thank you ever so much, Pansy dear. That was without a doubt, the most fun I have had in nearly half a decade." A true smile split his face, despite the truth of the statement.

Her face softened, if only a little, before hardening as if there had been no change. "I'm glad you were having your little bout of fun, Draco. You almost got yourself killed today! I told, I told you that you were too old to be flying about on a broom as if you were just out of the NEWTS exam! After I had kept your name from the papers—knowing I would make loads more galleons in ticket sales if your name was even a byline. I'm telling the Prophet tomorrow. More importantly, I almost lost a bet, of dire consequence, today, because of your foolishness!"

Humming, neither in agreement or disagreement, Draco replied cheekily. "Your concern touches me deeply. Alas, if only you had never fallen out of love with me, what a couple we could have made. Still, I am glad I won the game for you, and you did not lose whatever trinket you had your eye on."

She humphed slightly, annoyed that he plucked at her pervasive childhood fantasy that he starred in. "As if you would have ever deigned to give me even a small taste of your delectable arse. Whatever trollop managed to keep you away for so long was too lucky for her own good. Why she managed to let you out of the bedroom long enough to leave is beyond me." Seeing the Puddlemere Seeker—a rather fit fellow—walk past rather briskly, she broke off her train of thought. "And speaking of trinkets, I have one I must claim. Claim and get accustomed to the use of desserts in an intimate setting."

Watching the dark-haired witch walk off with a decidedly predatory gleam in her eyes, Draco chuckled at his old friend. Pansy hadn't changed a bit—still that voracious, instant gratification-loving girl from school. He had missed his old school friends, and he was glad to see them again. Harry had never been comfortable around them, and it was always easier to avoid a fight than deal with it. Not that the make-up sex wasn't fantastic, but Draco had been living like a monk for the last three years. A large part of him wanted to get this divorce settled and move on to some gratification of his own. A small smile on his cheeks, he tried to ignore the emptiness that lingered in Pansy's wake.

He knew that emptiness too well. It was his constant companion, a faint echo of remorse and sorrow whenever he was alone. It had gotten worse since he moved back into the Manor; the empty mansion seemed to punctuate his lack of family. He was almost desperately looking forward to the holidays, to seeing Harry again. And the kids. Mostly the kids.

He had tried ignoring Harry, but the blasted man had sent a torrent of post to his home. Each letter was like a knife to the heart, and even thinking of them made his knees weaken and long for Harry to hold him. Draco had heated a simple butter knife, leaving the wax seal unbroken. Harry didn't need to know he read them. Of course, Harry could not know this, or somehow it would be all glossed over and Draco would be back playing housewife. That was what had gone wrong with the relationship. He was vulnerable, after his divorce, and fell in love far too quickly. He had been willing to sacrifice everything with no quarter, if only to fasten Harry to him.

At least the letters had stopped. It gave him some illusion of security and strength. Even if he'd had to sacrifice the makings of a brilliant pheasant dinner and capture a recalcitrant owl.

"Hello Draco."

Draco cursed and spun around, a vicious hex on his lips. Despite his knee-jerk reaction, he knew that voice. All too intimately. It was the same as the fantasy in his dreams. It was identical to the voice in his most pleasant memories. Oddly enough, it was the same as the small voice that told him right from wrong. It was the voice of his stubborn, emotional Gryffindor husband—The Cheating Prat Who Would Not Leave Him Be. Affecting a wide-eyed stare, suitable enough for a crazy fan—along with a small glamour, cursing Harry for his sensitivity to magic—he turned to begin the battle.

"Stars! Are you Harry Potter? Bloody hell, you're gorgeous! Do you mind giving me your autograph?"

Draco almost chuckled at Harry's confusion. It was cute. And stubborn.

"Draco, I already know it's you. I saw you talking to Pansy. Why else would you two seem so familiar?"

That was all too easy. Harry was making this too much fun. "Miss Parkinson? She's a lovely sort, isn't she? Though, I don't think I've been such a shade of pink in a long time—the things she says! I was lucky enough that she decided to stalk a poor Puddlemere, murmuring away about the…ugh…_uses_, as it were, of chocolate strawberries. Harry Potter, why do you keep calling me Draco? Can you sign your autograph to Winston instead? You can call me that, just like we were friends. I don't know this Draco bloke, god-awful name though."

Draco watched in delight as tiny bits of anger and frustration started seeping through Potter's carefully constructed mask.

"Malfoy, stop being a prat and just listen to me already! I have something to ask you!"

Grinning in triumph, Draco began a slow, fluid march toward Harry. "Malfoy? I said you can call me Winston. Or, is this role-playing?" Leaning much closer, whispering right into Harry's ear Draco continued his tease. "You know, I won't mind what name you call me so long as you don't take too long in dragging me beneath the stands and having your wicked way with me."

Only a few inches from Harry's face, Draco felt every pulse of heat from his husband skin. Harry was such a brilliant shade of red that Draco was ruthlessly reminded of an irritating thought. _This is the Harry that I fell in love with_.

"D-Draco." His husband whispered his name so sensually that Draco almost broke his façade and pounced. Deciding to give up his little game, he took a couple large steps away from Harry, dissipating the glamour and fixing a familiar sneer on his face.

"An act or instance of separating or the state of being separated."

Harry blinked, perhaps trying to control his lust, as well as understand.

"What?"

"A place, line, or point of parting."

"Draco will you stop all this nonsense and just—"

"The definition of _separation_, Potter, and straight from a Muggle dictionary at that. Or, at least, straight from Granger, which is practically the same thing. Point aside—we are separated! As in, apart. Away from each other! Letters and stalking defenseless beauties as myself violate that definition!"

An appropriate look of shock and shame danced across the Auror's face, such a pleasing medley that Draco almost smiled. Harry looked down at the ground, toeing a good leather shoe in the dirt. "I-I wanted to ask if you'd join me for a Seeker's game…"

Draco stared. "A Seeker's game." Disbelief clearly laced in his voice.

Anger shot through the shame. "Yes, I miss playing Quidditch with you!"

Draco snorted silently. All this drama to ask him on some child's date? Harry stared at him defiantly, as if sure sweet words would sway him. Draco had taken him too young—Harry knew far too little about this game. He hardly even knew how to play it. If he even realized there was a game. It mattered little. 'No' was his answer. A firm and resounding NO.

"I'd like that."

Draco blinked. That sounded suspiciously unlike an adamant 'no'.

Harry smile beautifully. "Great! You have a pitch at the Manor, right? I'll be there this Saturday!"

Before Draco could retort, he found hot, strong, fit, powerful, amazing arms wrapping him in a lustful embrace. Frozen in shock, Harry lifted his face by the chin, bringing Draco's eyes to his. Harry's green eyes blazed with approval and arousal, and Draco found his mouth unwillingly dry. "Thank you." Placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, he left Draco wondering what exactly had happened.

_Shit!_

* * *

Hehehe. As a wise and highly experienced smut writer once said, "The game is a foot...or a leg...or a sexy arse for that matter"


End file.
